Kindred Spirits
by ellesmer.joe3
Summary: Josephine should have known that a drinking night in the Green Dragon would have been anything BUT average. Thomas/OC
1. Chapter 1

**so i wrote this a pretty long time ago for a friend, but seeing as i'm sort of stalling for time before i submit my newer (longer) fanfic, i decided to put this up on here xD**

**yeah, this is just pretty much some rubbish my friend wanted me to write for her (BECAUSE SHE LOVES THOMAS HICKEY XD)**

**not really expecting much from this, but yeah, for all those who are reading, hope you like it ^^**

* * *

**KINDRED SPIRITS - a Thomas Hickey x OC Fanfic**

**Part 1 – Josephine P.O.V.**

The estranged Josephine Arkwright sat drinking a bottle of rum in the local tavern, Green Dragon, as was her customary hobby. As much as she wanted to be drunk then, she seemed to have developed a resistance to alcoholic beverages. Of course, that did nothing to ease the fact that drinking the substance was very addicting. She spent late nights in the saloon drowning her problems away most days of the week, and she loved it.

The bartender, and her drunken friend, Hector served up mug after mug of his finest brews to men who just couldn't care less about their wives and children. And Josephine knew everything there was about their families. She had asked them herself during her first few days drinking in the pub. She saw it as a fact of the world, and it only strengthened her belief about love and marriage: it was a stupid thing. The vow she had made to herself and to her father, Everett Arkwright, stood true to this day; that she would never fall in love.

"Would the Siren want anything else?" Hector snapped Josephine out of her increasingly-building thoughts. He strutted towards her, towel in hand as he wiped a mug clean.

The female drooped her head down and set her chin on the wooden bar that stank of puke and alcohol, eyeing the almost empty bottle of rum in her hands. "Another bottle, for the go."

"Aye." As he turned around again to look for her request, the men sang drunkenly ugly songs of sailor men and fishing boats and mermaids. Josephine could only cover her ears and pretend to laugh as one of the drunkards sat next to her and feigned a hand of proposal. She harshly pushed it away, and the man retired to another sodden young woman in the tavern. The bartender came back with a full bottle of rum not a minute after, glaring at the drunken bastards who were singing away the stories of their fathers because they were starting to make a mess of the place. Josephine followed his gaze.

"You want me to get rid of 'em?"

"'Nay, officers'll come 'ere soon enough. They'll do the job." A snicker escaped Josephine's mouth, and he looked down to find her staring at him with wide, amused eyes. He looked away, a smirk on his face. "I'll keep 'yer secret long enough."

Josephine stood up off her seat, then, patting the bartender on the back as he was still glaring at the drunkards. "Thanks for the drink."

"Aye."

The pirate of the one and only ship Jabberwocky slid her bottle off the counter top and was just about to turn around and leave when the bell that hung above the entrance jingled, signalling the arrival of another soul.

Josephine stilled when the tip of a tricorn hat was the first thing she saw.

And surprise filled every inch of her soul when the face of Thomas Hickey was next. He was quickly followed by one other man to whom she did not know the name of. She didn't need to.

"And that," she started; grabbing Hector by the shoulders and making him turn towards the two pirates. His mouth shaped into a small "O" as she continued, "Is why I should be leaving now."

They started walking towards the bar, and Josephine whistled as she spun on heel and started making her way towards the back exit, not before Hector took that chance to alleviate the atmosphere and quickly mutter in her ear, "Don't let your dad find out about this, eh?" She could still smell the alcohol in his breath as she walked fast, past tables and people alike.

"She a very good acquaintance o' yers?" Josephine heard a low voice say from the bar. Her hand gripped the edge of one chair before letting go almost immediately. She sped up her pace when she felt eyes boring into the back of her head.

Apparently, not tying her hair before heading out was a sourly stupid idea, because though her quartermaster had already proved that it was one of her more recognizable features, she had not learned her lesson. "Hey… what the 'ell?!" A stool was knocked over, and she heard the frightening click of a gun. "Thomas!"

"Shit." That was when Josephine broke into a dead sprint, shoving anything and anyone that stood between her and the exit, which was so desperately close but so agonizingly far away. However, her panic and adrenaline hadn't relieved her of the knowing fact that Thomas Hickey was right at her heels. When her hand finally settled on the cold handle of the roughly carved wooden door that was her salvation, she wasted no time in pushing it open loudly with her shoulder, leaving her thickly clad body vulnerable to the cold night air. A tall stack of barrels **(!)** sat on the wet pavement to her left, and, running past it, she sent it tumbling down to slow down Thomas Hickey and whoever else was after her.

The boots she had so carelessly slipped into earlier in the morning made it hard for the infamous pirate to just dash around the pub and lose them in the millions of turns that was what made up the city without slipping. However, with the sea to her right and tall buildings to her left, she felt like a true pirate. On the run from the law. It sent jolts down her body just because she thought of what she would have looked like to the women who looked down from their homes. Her glee was not short-lived, because even when she heard Thomas Hickey and his accomplice trip over the barrels that were her handiwork, the grin on her face never disappeared. Such was the nature of the hunt for the prey.

Josephine chanced a look behind her and saw that her predators were still a long way off. But she knew that it wouldn't be so for long. They would catch up. She needed to hide. _But where?_ She took a sharp turn in this alleyway, and to her utter astonishment, her luck seemed to be rising when she saw a crossroads right before her eyes, and a dark crevice somewhere far to her left. _If there are two,_ _this could separate them._ Barely holding back her smitten laugh of delight, she slowed down, quieted her walking, and slipped into the tiny gap that was her agreeably mischievous excuse of a hiding place.

Her breath was short gasps of air, because ones made too long made this string of fog that was too noticeable in the dark. And only one lamp post was her company in the otherwise pitch black alleyway. She flattened herself against the moist wall, slowed her breathing, and stilled her chest. As expected, the men came stumbling into the hallway, their faces haggard and the fingers that held onto the handles of their swords shaking in the cold.

"Ye said she came through 'ere!" Josephine didn't take the risk to look at who had said it, but by the accent she guessed that it wasn't Hickey. Merely his partner.

Then came the deathly serious voice, the one other people described as completely different from how she heard it, the one that was supposed to be high-pitched and drunk, the one with the kind of tone that just couldn't let you take the man seriously. That wasn't what Josephine heard when Thomas Hickey replied, "She came in 'ere. I know it." There was a pause, and the fugitive pirate found the silence deafening. "You go over there; I'll look for her in 'ere."

Josephine held her breath. _Ding ding ding~._ Other than the pounding of her heartbeat, she heard two pairs of footsteps, one walking farther away, and one walking closer to her hiding spot. Why was she happy about this? Because she knew that, as soon as he walked by, she would have the most satisfying chance to whack him upside the head and escape before his unsuspecting friend came back. They wouldn't be able to capture her then. _This might just work._

Grinning maliciously to herself, she was astonished that her arm was still able to bend itself and unsheathe her sword. She did it as silently as possible, thanking God that crickets were noisy tonight so as to conceal the slicing sound her sword made as it slipped out of its sheathe and made itself comfortable in her palm. And Josephine held it tightly because of the sheen of sweat that had appeared across the flat her hand.

She watched with slanted eyes as Thomas took three steps away from her, still not the slightest hint that she was there. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she prepared herself, taking a deep breath and shifting her feet together. Thomas took another step, this stride seeming to be longer, and Josephine made her move. Moving silently yet as swiftly as a snake, she slid out of the crevice, not risking yelling out a battle cry because it could have cost the whole thing. As soon as her sword-wielding arm made it out, she bent her elbow and aimed the butt of her sword's grip to Thomas Hickey's head.

And then something surprising happened.

The butt of her sword never connected with his skull. Instead, her hand was knocked aside. She felt the rough leather of a jacket as she took two alarmed steps back, shocked and disappointed that her otherwise brilliant plan hadn't worked. It should have been perfect, because with the hit she was planning for Thomas Hickey's head it would have been sure to leave a mark.

But, alas, she had underestimated him. Josephine stared wide-eyed at Thomas. His sword was unsheathed, his legs and waist bent in preparation for a fight that was bound to come. What was most irritating was this wide smirk that spread all across his face. It sent crinkles under the creases of his eyes that made them appear closed.

"You are faster than you appear." Josephine remarked bitterly, her hand gripping her sword tighter as they side-stepped circles around each other. "I expected you to be lying by my feet unconscious by now."

"You underestimated me," he said in this annoying accent that he had. "But isn't that what fugitive pirates often do to their superiors? Miscalculate?"

That was when Josephine lunged, sword first and aiming for his legs. He skipped out of the way of her blade lightly, barely getting the bottom of his pants unscathed. Josephine lunged again, this time being able to nip his left leg. Her sword went right through the thin cloth that made up his trousers and she felt the end of her blade get caught in skin. Only hardly did it scratch his ankle, but in his drunken state apparently it was enough.

The softest of grunts escaped his lips, and he leaned forward. Josephine took her chance and brought her foot up, scraping the welt against his chin. When she heard the satisfying crack as it hit his jaw and saw him snap his head back, she released a cackling battle cry from her throat and leapt, twisting her ankle so that it slipped underneath Thomas Hickey's foot, making him lose his balance and drop uselessly into Josephine's already waiting outstretched arm. The crook of her elbow caught his neck and she was behind him before he knew it, her sword pricking the exposed skin on his throat.

Josephine panted softly. "What d'you have to say about fugitive pirates now?" Her voice was gruff, and as she was aware that her leg still hadn't unbent itself and was now curled around Thomas' like a vine. She roughly pulled it away. "Not so stupid as you might expect, aren't I?"

"If I was sober right now," his voice came out in gasps, because as they both saw, the slightest mistake with his breathing and Josephine's sword would penetrate a layer of his skin. "You wouldn't be so smug."

"I'm more sober than you are, so you aren't one to talk."

"Are you going to kill me now?"

"I could…"

All of a sudden, the red haze that had misted up her vision and clouded her thoughts dissipated, as if his words had made her realize something. It was a logical question, though, whether she was going to kill him or no. Josephine honestly didn't know herself.

Did she want to kill him?

No, no, that wasn't the right question…

… did she _need_ to kill him?

Josephine wasn't one to kill people just because they irritated the living hell out of her. Thomas Hickey had been tracking her down for more than a year now, and it amused her to great extents that he had only come so close only now. But he was only obeying orders. She knew that both of them knew that orders were what got you killed or what led you to salvation in this world. Now, she was going to have to make that choice for him.

Her mind was set on one future for him, and it was better than what the rest of her crew back on The Jabberwocky would have done.

Josephine hesitated for a moment, though. This was, after all, the man that could eventually bring her to justice, which she didn't want. But she didn't think she could actually bring herself to kill him. She had grown rather fond of his amusing her by his stupidity and drunkenness.

She lowered her sword from his throat, giving his elbow one last, painful squeeze before roughly pushing him away from her. "I will grant you mercy this one time." Josephine was vaguely aware of the stunned look on his face, but she decided against sticking around and giving him a speech on compassion.

Footsteps echoed in the distance, and something in her gut told her that it was not her allies who had come. "A warning though, Thomas Hickey;" she started, already taking long strides away from the scene, sheathing her sword. "If you ever insult us pirates again," the menacingly sweet smile she threw over her shoulder earned her the desired effect: a mouth slightly agape and eyebrows raised. Josephine held back her laugh as she finished, "I'll kill you myself."

Josephine took off running as soon as the men she had heard before appeared behind a building, swords pointed at her. She knew they were still too far away to actually catch her. So she turned a sharp corner, turned _another_ sharp corner, and let herself know that she was home-free.

_For now._

* * *

**next chap. will be Thomas' P.O.V. of this chap,****then that's it =))**

**reviews are greatly appreciated! xoxo**

**[Green Dragon - local pub**

**Josephine Arkwright**

**- red hair, green eyes**

**- better known as "The Siren" to other people, and in the seas; owns the ship Jabberwocky**

**- mother died after giving birth; father was hanged, charged with piracy, before Josephine was born**

**- wanted for pillaging many ships**

**- currently seeking Thomas out because she wants the wealth in his ship]**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – Thomas P.O.V.**

The moon had reached its peak up in the sky. Thomas walked alongside a subordinate of his, Bartholomew, their thoughts already hazed over from the bottle of rum they had "found". Apparently, there were some men who were even drunker than them that night. It made the task of stealing two or three bottles from their stashes much easier than it would have been if it meant they would have to steal from people sober.

Of course, no one could resist the two.

They were part of the brigade, the Templar Order. They had the authority here. No one could deny them other than the higher ranks, though they rarely went to the Green Dragon for a drink. Thomas and Bartholomew were confident they would never run into higher authorities during a free drinking night.

They went into an alleyway, the banner of the Green Dragon billowing wildly in the wind not far from them. Thomas Hickey's joke was lost behind the flamboyant laugh that was Bartholomew's. It echoed all across the path, the sound ricocheting away from the walls only to find another surface not seconds after. It took at least a minute for the laughter to die down and the echoes to stop, and even then the two were still chuckling in their drunken glee.

Rats scuttled on the rooftops of the houses and buildings that hovered above them, the only noise to be heard in that lane other than their slurry voices making lame but considerable conversation.

It was a miracle neither of them slipped over their own two feet.

"You plannin' on bringin' anyone home tonight?" Thomas asked, taking another down of the rum they shared. It burned down his throat and tickled his senses, casting that familiar haze of grey across his vision. He was definitely drunk.

Bartholomew chuckled, "Aren't I supposed to be the one askin' you that?"

"Touché," Thomas said, handing the half-empty bottle to his quartermaster so he could get less sober.

"Again, then." Bartholomew, with a shuffle of his feet, came to lean by the portion of brick wall that stood just beside the wooden front entrance of the Green Dragon. "Are _you_ plannin' on bringin' anyone home tonight?"

The drunker of the two cast a bored look around his surroundings, whipping his head here and there to prove his point that: "I don't see many corset-laced beauties around 'ere. You want me to look for one?" Thomas pouted cheekily.

Bartholomew grinned, patting his captain's cheek lightly before opening the door for him and pushing him in. "Let's take a look in 'ere and see if any catches your eye, aye?"

Thomas grinned. "Aye."

The acrid smell of sea and booze hit them full force, and they loved it. The feel of the heat caused by cramped space against their skin felt nostalgic, for they hadn't gotten the chance to visit the tavern in a while because of a particularly long punishment received by them for getting caught. Drinking rum. On the job. It wasn't the first time they did that, but it was the first time they were ratted out. And the fact that they fessed up about the many times they've drank on-duty only made the consequences worse. Their punishment lasted for one week. They barely survived it without drinking. Barely.

Thomas took a deep breath, letting his senses soak up the humidity while his nostrils burned up from the different scents of rum and beer in the air. He savoured the feeling, but it got him wheezing seconds later anyway. Bartholomew laughed as he roughly patted his back. "See anyone yet?"

His hacking subsided enough for him to look up, though there were tears in his eyes. His attention was immediately caught by a cascade of red hair. She couldn't have been more than twenty, as the sound of her voice that was barely heard behind the loud noises men made at the back of the pub suggested she was at least in her mid-twenties; the exact age Thomas was looking for. "What about 'er?" he said.

Bartholomew turned his gaze to look at her, but then made an amused groan when she stood up from her seat by the bar and grabbed the bartender whom she was talking to before by the shoulders, turning him so that he could see them. "Looks like she likes you."

"Yeah?" Thomas waved his hand to her. She saw, frowned, and turned away. Thomas grinned. "I like 'em feisty."

Something was tugging at the back of Bartholomew's head, like he was missing something completely obvious. Cold claws gripped his hands as he tried to calculate the girl's face, but it was impossible to see her clearly through the fog of too much rum. There was something about the colour red of her hair that rang a bell… he banged his fist on the countertop when they had finally reached the bar, both of them eyeing the girl who looked to be in a rush.

Away from them.

Thomas looked after her pensively, asking the bartender who leant on the countertop, "She a very good acquaintance o' yers?" He noticed that his friend had not stopped staring after the girl, whose pace was suspiciously gaining, and felt, oddly enough, angry. He bumped his elbow into Bartholomew's ribcage lightly, making the latter tear his gaze from the girl and look at him.

"Hey…" Something clicked in his mind then, because as he looked upon the preoccupied look on Thomas' face, and as he remembered the girl's red hair that belonged to only a few specific individuals, he put the pieces together, realizing he already knew who she was.

That girl was Josephine Arkwright.

"What the 'ell?!" He stood up abruptly, knocking down his stool and the one beside him, and took out his gun. He clicked the safety off and, noticing Thomas had still remained idle, kicked his leg and yelled his name. Loud. "Thomas!"

Arkwright had already started running, but they weren't far behind considering the path she had already cleared for them. The previous bleariness in Hickey's mind was all but forgotten, replaced by something that must have been resolve. The pure sense of grit strengthened his limbs and pushed him to sprint faster. This was the girl that authorities had been trying to catch for—what, 20 years now?—, the girl that was too slick for anyone else to catch. She always slipped through their fingers as easily as butter.

Thomas wanted to be the one who would get her. He wanted a promotion, he _needed_ one. People have been looking down at him for far too long. Tonight probably wasn't his night, but it was _the_ night. It had to be.

As the Arkwright reached the door, with them right at her heels, _so_ close, Thomas bumped his shoulder into something, or, more or less, some_one_. He only had time to see from the corner of his eye a tall and burly figure, about 2 feet taller than him, with muscles—and hair—prominent on his arms, before he shouldered open the door.

Cold Boston air met his face in one swift gust of wind and he had to keep himself from tumbling back in shock as his lips dried immediately. Bartholomew pushed him forward, yelling something that was lost in the roar of blood rushing in his ears. Thomas turned his head back and was just about to ask what was wrong when something collided with his foot. And though he caught himself, it didn't lessen the pain that flared up from his stubbed toe. Thomas cursed, holding his hands back so that his accomplice wouldn't trip as well.

Thomas' fury spread when he heard Josephine laugh, throwing her head back. _She's in for it now._ With a deep scowl, he slowed his pace until he was taking long strides instead of panicked sprinting. Bartholomew skidded to a stop a few paces in front of him. Thomas then saw Arkwright take a swift turn. "There!" Determined to put an end to the wild goose chase, they jogged the last few yards until they had turned the corner as well and were looking at a fork in the path. Thomas' scowl deepened, if possible.

"Ye said she came through 'ere!" Bartholomew growled, whipping his head here and there and satisfying himself with nothing but dust motes and brick walls. He stomped in frustration.

"She came in 'ere. I know it." Thomas looked around slowly, analysing every single inch of the perimeter as he took his time to think. She couldn't have gone very far. They weren't so far-off from her before. She couldn't have gotten far despite her slight advantage with the sharp routes. They merely needed to use their heads.

Thomas pointed to the right path, nodding to Bartholomew. "You go over there," he said. "I'll look for her in 'ere." As the man walked away, Thomas narrowed his eyes into slits, and blinked, because it didn't help at all to see through the darkness. Only one street lamp hovered high above him, pulsating precious waves of light that was the only thing keeping Thomas from bumping into a wall. The pirate would escape if that ever happened, so it wouldn't.

He narrowed his eyes, because somehow it helped him see better through the darkness. Something entered his hearing, then. Something that would have been lost to his senses if the crickets had been only slightly noisier that night, and if the crashing of the waves had been present, but they weren't, and so he heard it: the unmistakable sharp sound of a sword being unsheathed.

It came from his right. That was when he knew it was Josephine Arkwright, because nothing was beside him other than a particularly dark spot. Remembering everything he had ever been trained for, and keeping in mind the promotion and money he would get if he caught her, he slowly turned to his left so that he was now facing away from the darkness of that crevice and took three steps forward, and away. A fourth step was taken as he prepared himself for the attack, this one noticeably longer, for her and for him, because his hand had travelled to hover on top of his sword's handle.

There was a soft shuffling noise behind him. He turned around and there she was.

He knew it was her without even blinking an eye. The blazing red mane of hair and fierce look on her face was enough for anyone to think that this was a pirate, though only some would know that this was Josephine, the last remaining Arkwright of her bloodline, The Siren, the one who owned the infamous Jabberwocky. He would bring her in if it was the last thing he did.

Thomas caught the butt of her sword with the crook of his elbow, unsheathing his sword in the process. She seemed to be quite surprised that he had anticipated her attack. Her eyes were wide as she scrambled back. A smug grin spread across his face.

She gulped, bitterly saying, "You are faster than you appear." Thomas knew that that wouldn't have been the case if he had been just a tad drunker, but thankfully the facts in his head sobered him up a little, enough for him to know what was happening in front of him. "I expected you to be lying by my feet unconscious by now."

"You underestimated me." He decided to push her to be the one to attack, since that would be the considerably wiser thing to do in his drunken state. The grogginess was coming back to him. "But isn't that what fugitive pirates often do to their superiors? Miscalculate?"

His first mistake.

Josephine lunged for his leg with her sword. Thomas barely evaded being injured by the attack, but when she did it again jumping away was no use. It was already too late. The point of her sword caught on the skin of his left ankle, and the pain seemed to come in multitudes with the alcohol still in his system. He grunted and leaned forward, a stupid thing to do since her foot was waiting for him below. Stars danced across his vision when the tip of the welt hit his jaw, making his head snap back. His vision was blurred enough so that he couldn't see what happened next. He only knew one thing, though: she had outsmarted him, because the next moment her arm was snaked around his neck with the tip of her blade pricking the sensitive skin of his exposed throat.

"What d'you have to say about fugitive pirates now?" Thomas could hear the arrogance dripping in her words, and grit his teeth together. The pressure around his left leg disappeared, but that offered him little ease. "Not so stupid as you might expect, aren't I?"

Thomas took his chance to speak, because he certainly wasn't going to let himself be still underneath her. He wouldn't. "If I was sober right now, you wouldn't be so smug."

"I'm more sober than you are, so you aren't one to talk."

He gulped, looking down at the sword that was going to be his undoing. Slowly, carefully, quietly, he asked, "Are you going to kill me now?"

The sharp prick on his throat pressed deeper, and while his whole life should have flashed before his eyes, he could only ponder on where his ally Bartholomew was. _The sly dog is probably already back in that bar._ Sadness crept into him, because he knew that this was probably going to be the last amusing thought that ever crossed his mind. His nostrils flared.

Then the pain was gone. The pressure on his throat and the force pulling his head back had disappeared, but not before a final squeeze on his jaw was given. He was roughly pushed forward, not enough for him to land on four feet but enough for him to take his time to regain his balance. After that he turned around and found her sword sheathed and her hands at her sides.

"I will grant you mercy this one time," she said. Thomas couldn't keep his surprise from showing, then. Pirates were uncaring and fierce and violent and unrelenting, the very opposite of what this Arkwright in front of him was showing. "A warning though, Thomas Hickey." He held his breath as she turned, walking away. "If you ever insult us pirates again," he didn't chase after her. He watched as she threw an evil smile over her shoulder at him. She said, "I'll kill you myself."

He let his mind go blank as she ran. He heard nothing else, he did not move; because after all the army had taught him about pirates and thieves and criminals, this girl had shown him enough reason to, for once, think against law and order.

* * *

**soooo that's pretty much it! didn't really expect much from this, and i was right!**

**not one soul has shown any acknowledgement to this story xDD**

**no matter, i'll be putting up a much bigger story tomorrow. this was just a tiny little decoy ;))**

**anyway, feel free to review.**


End file.
